


Another Troubling Realization

by flippinsirens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Sibling Incest, Unresolved Sexual Tension, not really all that angsty though, semi-unrequited love for a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippinsirens/pseuds/flippinsirens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is becoming more brotherly towards Sam and Sam hopes a little too much. As things continue, the brothers must come to a realization about the other and themselves that could prove to to be for the better...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Balcony

The quiet night air had draped itself around a green-eyed man, who was leaning against the waist-high railing of the balcony of his shared apartment. Looking about the streets below him, he smiled a small smile, a rare one but it was a smile nonetheless. His darkened brown hair fell just above his ears and the small bit of bangs he held whipped lightly in the gentle breeze of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The weather wasn't warming, nor was it cold exactly…but then again, if one lived in South Dakota, one got used to the weather; so it wasn't a surprise to find this man wearing a thin, white dress shirt, un-tucked, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and form-fitting jeans that hugged his hips and thighs rather well. His feet lay bare on the smooth cement of the balcony, something that the man always found relaxing in a way.

Resting his elbows on top the railing, he peers a little farther over the edge, perhaps looking for someone or perhaps wanting to get a better view of the pretty blonde that just rounded the corner. Whichever reason, he simply rested back on his heels and turned to go into the bedroom that was his roommate's—for one could only get to the balcony through the other's bedroom—and walked through the light brown walls and the hanging posters of classic jazz and musicals that he knew the other enjoyed. It didn't stop him from scoffing, though.

Soon, even before he reached the bedroom door that led to the hallway, he heard the front door open and keys being dropped on the kitchen counter a few seconds later. Sighing, he quietly walked out of the bedroom to see his brother, his pursed lips and his obviously aggravated expression. Once he reached the end of the hallway, he was able to see into the spacious living room and kitchen, which held gleaming white appliances, dark countertops, and an apparent pissed off little brother in all his six-foot-four glory. Upon seeing his brother's chest rise with an audible sigh of frustration, he simply quirked an eyebrow as a greeting. "Bad day, Sammy?"

Having been lost in his thoughts, he hadn't really noticed the other until he spoke in his deep, husky voice that Sam had come to love to hear every day. For years now, he had known that he was attracted to Dean, which at first completely and utterly scared him. Sure, he was gay, but being gay for your brother? That was a whole new level of coming out of the closet that Sam had to deal with by himself because, of course, Dean didn't feel the same way. Couldn't feel the same way. The guy was basically a horny dog on two legs; willing to fuck anything that had a nice pair of tits and a great ass to go with it. And, sadly enough, San just wasn't a girl.

Scoffing, Sam simply rolled his eyes. "Yea, Dean. Bad day." He shook his head from side to side, dismissing the thoughts he just held and trying to calm his sour mood. He turned to the counters on his left side, giving Dean a perfect view of his backside, a view that he knew Dean wouldn't appreciate.

Dean walked towards Sammy, his bare feet shuffling along on the tiled floor. "Wanna talk about it?" The question had sounded awkward to his ears, but he felt the harsh vibes Sam sent off in undulating waves and thought it best if he allowed the other to vent. When Sam turned back to glance at Dean, his eyebrows were raised in a questioning manner. Feeling slightly offended, Dean simply walked off.

Was there some law against Dean asking Sam if he wanted to talk about his shitty day? And did Dean not get the memo? He hadn't thought asking Sam that question would offend the other, and the questioning glance the elder received merely made it obvious that Sam thought he was up to something as if they were twenty years younger again and living with their father. He heard glass clink together, obviously there were two of them, and a bottle being set down rather harshly on the counter top, but Dean made his way back to Sam's room and headed towards the balcony yet again. Not even a minute later, he heard footsteps sound from the bedroom and make their way towards him. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Sam offering a glass of dark brown liquor for him to take. Smirking, he took the glass and pressed the rim to his lips before taking a heavy swig; Sam followed, knocking back about a third of the glass' contents. Chuckling quietly to himself, Dean turned to face Sam, leaning against the railing. "That bad, huh?"

Dean was met with a roll of Sam's eyes to which he simply smirked. "You have no idea." The younger brother moved towards the railing, letting his forearms rest against the cool metal. "I had a patient today who kept complaining that he saw his dead wife have sex with his brother, who is also dead, by the way. And then he started crying. Which just really pissed me off because he thought that I was a tissue." His voice increased in volume by only a minuscule amount as he continued. "But that was only this morning. Around noon I was called into the Director's office because she needed to talk to me about how I treat my patients. Apparently, I don't care enough and I'm harsh on them which is complete bullshit because if I didn't care about their sorry asses I wouldn't get out of bed." Dean chuckled. He knew that Sam was one the most direct people he had ever met and sometimes that could come off as harsh, but Sam was also one of the most caring people he had ever known. Though he wouldn't admit that out loud. He let Sam continue his rant. "And when I defended myself, that bitch threatened to fire my ass and—"

"Woah, Sammy, I don't think I've ever heard you call someone a bitch. Well, except for your college professor but he fit the part." He smiled one of his knowing smiles.

Sam turned his glare towards his older brother. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't talk about that."

"When did I ever say that? C'mon, Sammy, you know me. I can't turn down the chance to use something as juicy as that against you whenever I can. That shit's golden." He knew he probably should have shut his mouth, but by the time the punch landed on his arm he knew it was too late. "Ow! That hurt bitch!"

Sam merely chuckled. "Jerk…"

Thinking back on the past week, Sam couldn't help but become irrevocably shocked and confused at Dean's behavior of late. The man, for all intents and purposes, was a womanizer but lately, he hadn't been bringing home women, who Sam suspected of gaining a sexual transmitted disease by the time they were twenty five, at late hours of the night. Dean, also, and this one was oddly strange to Sam above all others, actually made gestures of endearment and brotherly love towards Sam, something that the elder would never do under any circumstances. Well, except for when their dad had died. Sam's mom had died when he was only six months old due to a house fire, and his dad died due to a gunshot wound to the head. Sam could never figure out why that man waltzed into that hospital with a gun in hand and started shooting people. But nevertheless, Dean had been there for Sam, emotionally anyway, because the younger was a wreck, completely detached from society for months afterwards.

True that Dean loved Sam and that Sam felt the same way, but Dean was never one for sentimentality or showing his emotions—he always had to be the big brother; 'Watch out for Sam.' 'Take care of your little brother, boy.'—and Sam understood that as a main reason why Dean was hesitant to have a 'chick-flick' moment, as the other deemed them to be named. So, this past week, when Dean had begun to subtly develop into a more loving brother—and that terminology for his actions was hard for Sam to even swallow—Sam immediately thought that someone had died. But, he had just seen Bobby, and if anyone had known that someone had died, he'd be the first to know because Bobby had his ears plugged into everything. Hell, the man could come up with fake aliases for the FBI, CIA, and other government jobs if he wanted to!

And of course, when Sam realized that Dean was changing—be that it may be dreadfully slow—his mind had come to a theory that maybe Dean did feel the same way as he. That Dean loved him in one of the most frowned upon ways that there is. But Sam, without a doubt, knew that Dean, being who he was, would never admit it, never think about it if it were true, and never instigate something. So, Sam was left with broken theories and reasons, helpless emotions that he couldn't force down, and the sense that he and Dean would never be more than what they already were.


	2. Diner

Dean couldn't fathom why Sam was becoming more reserved than usual. Sure, his little brother, being the dork and nerd that he was, would lock himself in his room for hours on end doing nothing but read Psychology books, biographies, and whatever else it is that geeks do. But, seriously, his silence at dinner for the past few nights had started to become worrisome when Dean couldn't even engage the other in their usual banter of one word insults. Overall, Sam's behavior was cause for Dean to be skeptical.

It's not that Dean didn't realize that he himself had sort of changed in the last week—oh, he did—but he thought that Sam needed a bigger brother, who wasn't always there for him when he needed to be in the past. Sure, Dean stuck up for him when he was bullied, and, sure, Dean provided him comfort in the times that Sam was depressed after their father's death. But Dean knew he never made an act of endearment towards the other. He knew that Sam had always wanted Dean to act like all the other big brother's in their hometown. But…Dean just wasn't that person. He was strong, hard-working, and never gave in to emotions because somehow, and this was from seeing it happen all the time, they brought you down in the end. Especially when the emotions concerned family members. So, no, Dean didn't indulge himself in the slightest in a brotherly bond that Sam had wanted. That Sam had possibly needed growing up.

But, as he sat there, gazing onto the horizon from the balcony of their apartment before he went into work that morning, he couldn't help but wonder why he was suddenly wanting to form that bond. It was too late and he knew that. They were both grown men with different lives to lead. Dean owned the diner, and Sam was a successful Psychologist, Psychiatrist…whichever; Dean never really paid attention the difference. So, why, for the life of him, was he trying to make a brotherly bond with his younger sibling now, after so many years of not having one? Sighing, he pushed those particular thoughts away for now as his cellphone dinged his departing alarm.

He walked into the room when Sam was just coming out of his shower clad in only a towel, water rivulets running over his tattoo, down his chest—which was perfectly sculpted along with his abs—and catching into the fabric of the cloth that hung low on his hips, effectively showing the dip from his waist to his pelvis. Dean's eyes, for some unknown reason, trailed the water as it made its way down Sam's body. However, he quickly diverted his gaze, calling a goodbye over his shoulder to Sam as he walked out the door, completely bewildered as to what had just transpired.

It wasn't until somewhere around noon that Sammy came in, clad in nothing but a form fitting white t-shirt and dark denim jeans that hugged his thighs and ass quite nicely, something that was typically not Sammy's style at all. It was Saturday afternoon, and within seven hours, it'd be Saturday night: the night that Dean and Sam spent letting everything loose, chilling out at the bar, and simply enjoying each other's company while downing a few Purple Nurple shots—Dean's favorite. As the younger man sat down at the counter, Dean turned around and smiled a friendly smile that he shot at all his customers. And Sam, for all he was worth, couldn't help the small bit of hope that popped up every time he saw Dean smile like that. Even if the smile was aimed just to get tips. The elder was dressed in his typical ensemble of jeans that hung low on his hips, a gray jacket covering a black t-shirt. A towel was currently resting on his shoulder; an apron was folded in half and tied around his waist. Just as Sam was thinking about tying the apron around something else, Dean interrupted his thoughts.

"Sammy! How's it goin'?" He spoke as he placed his hands on either side of him on the counter, his frame leaning against the cleaned wood.

Sam smiled back in return. "How do you think it's going? I'm off, I don't have to deal with that psycho bitch and it's Saturday." He glanced down at the menu that was strategically placed in the holder which also housed the common spices, picking it up in his hands and beginning to sift through it.

"So, I take it we're still on for tonight, then?" The other inquired as he whipped the towel off his shoulder, beginning to dry a glass that he took from the sink only a few seconds ago while Sam was busying himself with the menu.

He nodded. "Yea, we are." Placing the menu back down, he folded his hands in his lap. "Get me a salad, De."

Suddenly, a wet towel made contact with his face, dropping down into his lap.

"Don't call me 'De.' Makes me sound like a chick." And, as Dean turned, he was suddenly in the line of a possibly catastrophic hit to the face with the wet dish rag that he had just thrown but he easily dodged it, knowing it was going to come because that's usually what happened.

After all, growing up with your only sibling all your life, you're bound to pull pranks on each other constantly. And, well, Sam was unpredictable but this one thing stayed a constant: he'd throw back anything you gave him that he didn't want. This was true both figuratively and quite literally, which was both rewarding and dangerous. But Sam and Dean never actually pulled off incredibly harmful pranks—a few every now and then—that would result in an injury in the other for it simply caused too much shit to be dealt with. Besides, if Dean or Sammy were to get hurt physically, the other would be in for it at least twice as bad. So, no, it didn't escalate past super gluing someone's hand to a beer bottle, or itching powder in someone's underwear, or…well, Sam didn't want to think about that one. The last time they had pulled pranks on each other—just a few weeks ago to be exact—Sam was left with his ass super glued to the damned toilet seat and Dean was left with bright pink hair and orange teeth; a marvelous sight, indeed.

Nevertheless though, Dean prepared Sam a salad to which the younger was grateful for. As he began to eat, though, he noticed that Dean was still standing behind the counter in front of him, his palms on the wood, and simply looking at him. As if analyzing. Which was disturbing because Dean never analyzed anything in his life, let alone people. That was Sam's job that he was currently using the income from to pay off his student loans and whatnot from his college days. His gaze wasn't a burning gaze, but instead it was more of a deep, thoughtful gaze that only came when the other was thinking really hard about something or someone. And, as Sam looked up into the gorgeous eyes of his brother, he couldn't help but think that maybe Dean was beginning to see him in a new light…

No. That was wishful thinking and that kind of thinking got you nowhere in life. One had to make their life be what they wanted it to be and wishing for it never worked. You had to take initiative, a stand, be aggressive in your choices, and, most importantly, you had to have the guts to do it. Sam wanting Dean to love him the way that Sam did was definitely wishful thinking because Sam knew, without a doubt, that it would never happen. And if it did, it'd be on the other's death bed. But even that was pushing it.

"Dean?" Sam hesitated.

However, his voice still seemed to carry over to Dean anyhow and, by the way the man jumped a little, startle him. "Yea?"

Sam noticed the faint blush that covered the other's cheeks, the way the word came out almost in a rush as if he were hiding something. Perhaps he was embarrassed at being caught staring off into space, or perhaps he really was hiding something but Sam doubted the latter. For one thing, they had promised each other to always tell the truth, even if it was harsh and ensued chick flick moments, but those weren't often. And, for another, Sam hated it when people kept things from him; especially if those people were a part of his family. Granted, he only has two members left that he knows of: Bobby and Dean. It wasn't that he was paranoid of people keeping things from him—after all he was not like the patients he sees where a few claim that Russian Spies are watching them—it was just that it became absurdly annoying after a while and typically lead to punishing words and physical fights, something that the younger had grown to dislike after a while even though it provided a sort of release for pent up energy and stress.

Shaking his head, Sam merely lightly chuckled. "Nothing, man, you're just staring off into space like some weirdo."

Dean's eye narrowed for only a moment before he walked away smiling, beginning to clean off more glasses and take down more orders as they came in.


	3. Party Hard, Bro

Seven hours later, at nine o'clock, Dean walked out of his bathroom clad in form-fitting jeans and a white t-shirt. Smiling brightly at Sam who was leaning against the opposite wall, he made his way to the living room, picking up his jacket on the way out and throwing it over his shoulder as he made his way down to the lobby with Sam following behind.

When they arrived at the club, however, Sam was immediately pursued by almost every gay guy there. Which wouldn't have bothered the elder brother if it weren't for the fact that Sam was flirting back. And this happened all the time. On their nights; when they would go out together to let out some steam from the week's troubles and simply talk about things that brothers would talk about. And lately, Dean had actually been looking forward to these nights simply because he loved hanging out with Sam, after all, the younger was easy to talk to, fun to joke around with, and a great listener. If the man had been a woman and not Dean's little brother, Dean was quite sure that he wouldn't mind dating Sam. Or Samantha as it would be if those circumstances came into play.

Wait, thought Dean, did I seriously just imagine myself dating a chick version of Sam? The thought wasn't uncomfortable per se, in fact it wasn't uncomfortable at all, for Dean was quite secure in his sexuality, and sure, he'd look at other men but that was simply to scope the competition and to see where he stood. He was fairly certain that, if he were to be compared to Sammy, that he wouldn't measure up just the same as if he were compared to any other male in this place. Sam was practically sex on legs. All six feet and four inches of pure muscle and a tan to compliment it. He had dark, brown, shaggy hair that looked adorable when it was swooshed out of his face or when he would just wake up. His hazel eyes were simply to die for; a pair of eyes that one could get lost in, or eyes that Dean didn't mind waking up to in the mornings. But there go those thoughts again, thoughts that he needed to avoid at all costs.

Dean surmised that it must be because he was tired, stressed, and drinking that he was beginning to think in that way. After all, the alcohol must have something to do with the fact that Dean was thinking of Sam in a more sexual way than he ever would admit. Besides, tonight was supposed to be Dean and Sam's night; not Dean, Sam, and some random guy that just wanted to get laid in the backroom of a gay bar. Clearing his throat loud enough for Sam to hear over the chatter of the men around him and the music, he picked up his drink, not even looking at the younger man. Still, Sam quickly realized that Dean was being alienated and so he turned from the incredibly attractive men before him to engage in conversation with Dean, which, surprisingly—or maybe not on either of the brother's part—was actually quite humorous and enjoyable as the hours waned past and before they knew it they were both flabbergasted that it was three o'clock in the morning. Yet, the club still thrived on the dancing bodies and the ever relentless alcohol intake—though, Sam and Dean hadn't even made it to their fifth drink and both being heavy, tolerant, drinkers, they weren't even tipsy by this point, which made for even more laughs as drunken men would hit on Dean, or Sam, and the sight was completely laughable. However, Sam couldn't really help but feel slightly jealous—and as a Psychiatrist it was his job to point out his feelings and cope with them—that so many men were hitting on his brother and that he wasn't paying them any attention and would repeatedly threaten their life. So, if Dean was this way with men who weren't his blood relative, Sam could only imagine how he would react if the younger had ever confided his feelings for the green-eyed man…

Ordering three rounds of shots, Dean chuckled at Sam's gaze once they were set on the counter. "What's the matter, Sammy? 'fraid you're gunna lose again?"

And, if only to reciprocate Dean's cocky attitude, Sam simply smirked. "No, Dean, it is you who will be losing tonight."

"Highly doubt that, man." He rested his forearm on the table, bent at the elbow, his fingers slightly hanging off the side of the bar. Picking up a shot glass filled with a purple liquid, he simply glanced at Sam, waiting for the other to pick up his glass, and once he did, the two downed it as quickly as possible, picking up the next one and the next until finally, Dean slammed his against the counter first, the sound proving to be painful for Sam's ears for he had lost and one could only imagine what dreadfully embarrassing stunt Dean was going to make him perform.

"Haha, Sammy, told ya you were going to lose, man." Dean slapped Sam on the back just to further his point somehow.

Rolling his eyes, Sam simply huffed out a small breath. "Just tell me what I gotta do this time."

As if to prolong the horrible suspense in the air—for Sam's imagination came up with some compromising actions to do right now—Dean ran his fingers over his jaw, perhaps thinking about the worst thing he could make Sam do in front of everybody.

After what seemed like a silence held forever, Dean chuckled and pointed to the dance floor. "Start stripping."

If Sam had been drinking his water, he would have choked on it for sure because the implication that Sam would willingly strip in front of everyone on the dance floor was excruciatingly insulting. "What? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious, baby boy." That playful smirk graced his features as he continued to look at Sam dead in the face and question the other's courage as he did so.

"No, I'm not—no, Dean, it's ridiculous. I could get kicked out for life not to mention that some of my co-workers could be here and if they saw me out there doing that my reputat—"

"Oh, boo hoo," Dean interrupted, "you lost the bet now you gotta strip. Those are the rules, Sammy; besides, it's practically your own practice so if anyone complained or whatever, you could just fire them."

"That's not the point, Dean."

"Does it look like I care what the point is Sammy?"

Sam merely narrowed his eyes at Dean, who had gone back to drinking his beer—which he ordered after the shots, of course—and wished that Dean hadn't asked him to do that. But, a bet was a bet, and if a Winchester turned down a bet, no matter how ridiculous, it would only add to the shame. So, sighing a breath of frustration, as much from embarrassment as the fact that he could get kicked out because of this, he rose off the barstool and made his way to the middle of the dance floor, turning back to look at Dean, who had swiveled in his chair to watch the show. However, the elder brother simply shook his head and pointed to the stage where only a few people were dancing, and those few people were paid to dance on there. With a hard look that obviously wouldn't work, Sam eyed his brother, wondering if he could possibly change out of the bet and do a different one. But, just as Dean was oblivious to some things around him, he was equally a stubborn jackass so Sam knew his attempts to change Dean's mind would be futile. Glaring a final time, narrowing his eyes even more, Sam made his way towards the stage that no customer was supposed to go onto and turned to face the crowd once again.

The music had changed to a faster song, a song that is perfect for a stripper to dance to, which, upon further realization, Sam was about to do and somehow the entire situation seemed coincidental. Nevertheless, though, he began to sway his hips as only he was able to with the other people there and even more dancers began to look at him. Soon, though, as the bass line and the drums picked up and got louder, Sam's movements got bigger and more erotic; his hips swaying dutifully to the tempo, his hands running across his body in an aesthetically pleasing manner, his unexpected wide grin charming his features. And then, when the crowd started cheering, Dean—who had turned back to the bar for a minute—knew that Sam had started taking off his clothes and so the elder turned around just to see for himself what was happening.

If Dean had been any other man, he would have jumped Sam's bones right then and there—it was a wonder how everyone was still on the dance floor—but, naturally, he was no other man and the simple fact that he was straight set him apart as well. However, when he glanced at Sam's form, the way his hips curved slightly outward in an even more slightly feminine manner, and the way his large hands ran over his now naked torso—which was quite defined with muscles—Dean couldn't help but play with his collar, suddenly feeling a bit too hot in the bar, but that was because of the surrounding bodies that were giving off way too much body heat for Dean's tastes. Well, that was the reason that Dean had convinced himself of and that was the reason he was sticking to. No matter what.

The crowd of horny, danced out, tweaked men jeered, clapped, cat-called, and even tried to touch Sam, who, at the moment and despite his protests, definitely looked to be enjoying himself, which made Dean chuckle at the irony. It was only when someone had actually jumped on stage unexpectedly that Dean got a little worried; in his mind he saw that guy forcing himself onto Sam, for the man was much larger than Sam muscle wise and looked rather tough, strong enough in a way that neither Dean nor Sam could really fight back and have a standing chance. However, when the man had laid his hands on Sam's hips from behind, Sam simply chuckled and continued to dance to the music and Dean vaguely wondered how long this song was before he realized that he was scowling at the man who was touching his brother.

The man was just getting a little bit too touchy, running his abnormally sized hands over Sam's body, but, yet, Sam's smile did nothing to allow Dean to believe that he wasn't enjoying it. But, he had to, right? Of course Dean knew that Sam was gay; hell, Bobby knew before the younger brother knew himself so it wasn't really a surprise, but Sam could not ever possibly like a man like that to lay his fat hands on him, would he? The man was practically molesting him in front of everyone and even helped the younger unzip his pants…Dean looked away, heat seeking into his pores, blossoming in his cheeks.

Even though they were brothers, there were just some parts that needed to be left unseen.

But, as Sam continued, as the music played, Dean couldn't help but satisfy his interest. And so, he turned around and a new sensation flooded his body, a sensation that was so close to possessiveness that Dean almost balked. Who was he to be angry over whom Sam was dancing with, by his own volition no less? He was only the older brother of an adult man who was quite clearly capable of handling any situation to the best of his abilities and all Dean would cause was a scene if he were to march up there and grab Sam's hand, pulling him out of the bar and into the car to go home.

Too bad that was what happened, even before Dean knew it he was already in the middle of the dance floor, meandering through the screaming crowd, making his way towards his brother, who—upon catching Dean's heated glare—immediately stopped dancing as if he were actually afraid, and climbed down from the stage. Dean was beside himself with unexplained anger. "C'mon, Sam, we're going home."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed together rather cutely in that confused manner. "What, why?"

"Because I'm tired, that's why, and this place is crowded." And, without even waiting for Sam to consent for their joined departure, he stalked out of the bar into the cool night's air, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves before Sam joined him. However, Sam, being the smart guy that he was, instantly knew that Dean, whatever emotion he was trying to conceal, was not okay.

Sam was fixing his collar when Dean started walking away from him, and it could very well be that accusing glance that Sam gave him when he came back outside, but to Sam he had very good reason to give such a glance. "Dean, what's your problem?"

Dean simply rolled his eyes and picked up his pace. "Nothing, Sammy, I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"What makes you think so?"

"First of all, I don't think so, I know so. Besides, it is a part of my profession to tell what people are feeling and when." Sam, due to his absurdly long legs, was able to match his brother's pace more easily and comfortably. "So, either you tell me what's wrong now or I question you relentlessly later."

"Just don't worry about it; I told you I'm just tired and now I have a freakin' headache thanks to an annoying guy walking beside me." Dean fixed Sam with a pointed glare.

Sam, having been used to it all his life, wasn't affected in the slightest but decided not to push the subject any further. But, a small piece of him wondered if Dean was—dare he say it?—jealous at the fact that another man was dancing with him on stage suggestively. And another part of him, the logical piece, refused to believe something as absurd as that.

The men walked together in silence along the paved street until they came to the Impala, the sleek black beauty that Dean had officially deemed his 'baby', and once there it was equally silent as the engine rumbled to life and Dean set off for their apartment.


	4. Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather short chapter but I promise the next one will be filled with angsty goodness!

A high pitched buzzing resounded off the darker brown walls of Dean's bedroom, waking him up with a foul mood. Turning over onto his stomach in order to fling his hand at the alarm clock, effectively pushing it to the floor as he pressed the snooze button, he groaned in annoyance. It was a calm, cool, Sunday morning, time for sleeping in and not having to worry about work for this was his only day off as the county had a law against serving alcohol of any kind on Sundays. Which, unsurprisingly, really bothered the green eyed man—the government, even small county districts, should not implement religious views on the county. After all, wasn't it everyone's right to purchase alcohol whenever they damned well pleased? Dean thought so…

He groaned again, but not in annoyance. Rising slowly, almost painfully, he sat up and dragged his lazy Sunday ass out of the bed only to have his feet freeze against the hardwood floor. Immediately awake, he darted for the bathroom nearest to his room. Even though he had teased his baby brother for years about being too picky about color, he must admit, the bathroom scheme looked utterly amazing. A light blue covered the walls, black, shining tiles for the floor and black counter-tops; a silver sink in the shape of a seashell and a gleaming white toilet along with a stand-in shower that held clear glass between its silver paneling.

Grateful for the light blue furry mat he was currently standing on, Dean twisted one of the knobs of the faucet only to come to the stark realization that it was still broken from last week. Sighing—he hated walking across the hardwood flooring in the mornings; they were always so dreadfully chilled—he grabbed his toothbrush and dashed to Sam's room which wasn't that far away, just down the hall a bit.

Throwing open the bathroom door, he exclaimed loudly over the roar of Sam's own shower, "Sorry to interrupt your 'happy time', bro, but the sink in my bathroom is still crap." Dean could practically hear the steam coming from Sam's ears.

"Dean, how many times do I have to tell you that I do not masturbate in the shower!" The elder man just chuckled and smirked triumphantly as he squeezed out some toothpaste onto his toothbrush after checking to make sure that it wasn't died any color that wasn't white…

"Whatever you say, Sammy." Beginning to brush his teeth, he could already see a fuming Sam stalk out the shower completely naked just to smack him on the back of his head. Unfortunately, not even a few minutes later—Dean liked to brush his teeth for exactly six minutes—did Sam actually step out of the shower completely naked; his tanned skin was glistening and shining in the afterglow of his hot shower—there was steam everywhere—water droplets sticking to the ends of his long, wet hair, his muscles and skin nicely being shown off by the lighting…

Dean looked away whether to look in the mirror at his own image—of what he could see, anyway—or to avoid eye contact and to keep from staring at Sam's body he wasn't sure. Something was seriously off with him lately.

Sam leaned down, turning his back on Dean to grab a towel from the bottommost part of the towel rack beside the shower. And, even though the mirror was shit due to the steam that had collected on its surface, Dean still swallowed at the possible image he could have seen from the reflection…and then coughed when the toothpaste he swallowed burned his throat.

With his eyes watering, he quickly rinsed out his mouth and hoped that Sam hadn't seen his blush before he had turned around. He straightened and ran a small rag over his face to get the water off and quickly left, afraid to look at Sam, especially when he knew the other still had no clothes on to speak of.

Safe in his room—damned the cold floor!—he sunk onto the bed, rubbing the back of his head as he leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Sighing, he just wished that what just happened would not ever, under any circumstances, happen again.

Dean had always been around Sammy, always taking care of him, looking out for him, wrestling with him, and never, not once, had these…odd thoughts popped into his head like rabbits. Sam, when he came out of the shower, and even in the dance club, was completely mesmerizing and Dean had to force himself to look away from the man. And his rash behavior at the club was just too uncommon and unfounded that Dean couldn't even fathom why he had done it in the first place, just that he wanted Sam away from that other man. He never really thought of Sam as being attractive until a few weeks ago at the dance club that the other had dragged him to…

Even in everyday household chores, Dean found himself looking at Sam for longer than necessary. He would watch how the other's muscles worked when he would reach for a bowl in one of the higher cabinets in the kitchen, or how his pants stretched over his long legs and perfect ass when he bent over to grab something, or even walked, for that matter. Dean would constantly let his eyes wander over Sam's body, taking in how nicely the other's body looked in outfits, the rise and fall of his chest, or the way his smile lit up his face like the fourth of July. On more than one occasion, Dean had wondered if Sam was gay—the evidence was there for it in any case—or had ever been with a man—those thoughts seriously bothered the elder brother and he just pushed those away, afraid of what strange things those would lead to. Almost immediately after those thoughts, though, he wondered how Sam would look if he were a chick, which brought up another curious thought, indeed—why would Dean be thinking of Sam as a chick; even more importantly, a fuckable one?

However much Dean felt uncomfortable and awkward, though, was nothing compared to the sickening feeling in his gut when he thought about Sam kissing a man, just any man, the slide of cock against cock, hands roaming, tongues licking. Suddenly, as though it was without his volition, an image of himself with Sammy in that position—tongues, teeth, lips, cock, hands, everything—plotted itself in his mind, invading his thoughts, destroying what little sanity he supposedly held.

Taking a deep breath, he stood, mustering what little nerves he still held and went out into the kitchen to cook them both some breakfast, realizing, yet again, that things were changing; for the good, or for the awkward, the man wasn't sure at this point. But, in due time, he also realized, if his mind's thoughts kept coming in that particular way, he'd have to do something about it first…


	5. Fuck My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, maybe this chapter isn't so angsty as I expected but its still good, right?

It had begun when Sam was only a small child. He would just sit and…watch. It'd be disconcerting for his father until Sam's dad had realized what the other was doing: analyzing. Of course, Sam didn't know he was doing it, or was aware of it until junior year when he started thinking about what colleges to apply for.

He had always thought that people were interesting, though, and that's why he enjoyed watching them, wondering why that had done the things they had, or why they said certain things, or why they acted differently around certain people than others. Humans were fascinating, and Sam had always been a curious mind. What child wasn't?

But, it went beyond just a child's curiosity. It became a teenager's obsession, a man's profession.

And this is why Sam hated it so much.

Day after day, he'd hear people complaining about their life, how horrible everything around them was; the drawback of being a Psychologist. He'd evaluate them, listen, and analyze just to tell them what they already know. Just to tell them what is wrong, how to go about recovery, and still, they already know this. However, sometimes, he'd get a patient so much an invalid and in so much need that Sam would think that his purpose as a Psychologist was served, that he was actually able to help that man or woman recover quickly and be a full person again. But those times were rare. Eventually, though, he fell into a kind of stupor where being there for those people in need just wasn't good enough. It wasn't what he expected. But he still loved it.

He had learned at a very early age why people reacted the way they did and the actions that made it obvious to him if no one else. He had recognized the signs of anger, jealousy, hatred, denial, happiness, depression, rage, pity, sorrow and pain in others around him. He had grown to be a counselor of sorts to his friends and Bobby, to his teachers in high school on occasion, and even his mentors in college. That's why he sought out this profession because he was always like this with his analytical mind, his caring nature, his want to help people, and—if he may boast—he was good at his job; more than good, he was stupendous. That's why he was the most recommended Psychologist in South Dakota…and he still loved his job, his career choice, his passion.

And, furthermore, being the kind of person he was, he realized early in his high school life that he was attracted to Dean. The dark, deep, green eyes that could smother fire, the smooth curve of the man's lips, the high cheekbones, the snarky smirk, the teasing nature, the bowed legs, rough yet lean muscle, neat hair, and the sardonic jackass persona really did him in during freshman year. However, due to his nature, he also recognized the fact that Dean never really cared for men, that he was a woman pleaser due to the other's performance in bedding them, that Dean would never feel the same way.

And this is why Sam hated being a Psychologist. Because everything that he knew about his brother's sexuality, everything that he had gathered from years' observation, everything that he believed to be true was quickly forming a convoluted, twisted, bewildering, complicated mess of shit.

And so, he sat in the booth that Sam and Dean always chose in their Diner that they always went to, just sitting, eating, watching, and analyzing. Hoping that he wasn't wrong in his suspicions: Dean had changed drastically in the last few weeks—seven weeks, actually—and it had started worrying Sam until Sam started watching, paying attention, analyzing all over again.

He caught sight of Dean's lingering gazes, the light blushes that tinted his cheeks when he quickly looked away, afraid of being caught. He noticed Dean's insistence on not going to any clubs for a while because he was taking up more shifts at the bar/diner he now owned and didn't want to go out—or so he claimed was the reason. He had also noticed the look in Dean's eyes when he pulled the younger out of the bar that one night seven weeks ago; pure jealousy and anger. But Sam wasn't stupid enough to bring it up again that night, or ever for that matter. Nevertheless, he knew that Dean had started thinking of him in a new light, possibly for the better. However, it could easily prove to be detrimental to their relationship; Dean could overthink it, be disgusted, and drive Sam away, or drive himself away from Sam. And that is what Sam feared.

Since before he could even remember, he had always been with Dean. His older brother was always there for him in more than just a big brother…he was practically raised by Dean; they had formed a bond that was unbreakable and it had torn at Sammy's heart when he had to leave to go to college and Dean had to stay behind. He never wanted to be away from Dean, afraid that he'd lose him forever, or that they would just grow apart over time. But he had kept in touch, he made sure to call Dean almost every day, or at least, when his school work was done or could wait until a few hours later. So, they had talked often, laughed together, told stories, and whatnot. But it wasn't enough for Sam. That's why he moved back to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. To be with Dean again. Even if he knew Dean wouldn't want anything more from Sam than just a little brother.

But that was starting to change. At least, that's what Sam had hoped.

His thoughts were interrupted when Dean cleared his throat obnoxiously and gained Sam's undivided attention. "Dude, where'd ya go? Was it a strip club?"

Sam shook his head a little, chuckling quietly. "No, Dean. It wasn't a strip club. Just thinkin' 'bout some stuff at work, you know?" Which, technically, wasn't a lie…right?

With a roll of his eyes, Dean scoffed. "Whatever. I may not be a Psychologist but I can tell when you're bullshitting me."

"Oh, really?" Sam replied with a mocking tone and quirk of his eyebrows. "And why would I be bullshitting you?"

"Easy, you don't want me to know anything that you're really thinkin'."

"Hn…"

If only Sam had real proof of something concerning Dean's behavior, something that proved what Sam wanted to be so. Something that couldn't be argued, something that couldn't be denied by the other. Without thought, or perhaps a subconscious thought, Sam discreetly placed his foot beside Dean's, their shoes coming in contact, something that both men hadn't done since they were kids and Sam had separation anxiety issues…almost immediately, Dean's back straightened and a faint blush came to his cheeks. But this wasn't enough.

And so started Sam's experiments.


	6. Everyone Fails At Least One Test

It's been three weeks since Sam started his experiments. The weather had become quite chilled as winter was soon approaching and the younger Winchester brother shivered in his bedroom, the heater being defective even though it was working.

However, it wasn't just the cold air that was making him sleep deprived at the moment. No, no, he had more troubling matters on his mind, matters that involved a sexy, sardonic, jackass, muscled older brother by the name of Dean. God, even his name on Sam's lips screamed desire and lust. Which are exactly Sam's feeling towards the other at the very moment, especially after his last experiment…

Sighing, the taller brother glanced at the ceiling, his eyes wide open, the thick comforter wrapped around his body. The first experiment wasn't so bad: Sam realized that Dean was aware of touches being out of place and his body reacted to them accordingly—a stiff back, tense shoulders, a tick in his jaw, and rapid blinking while trying to change the subject. It had started at the diner when Sam placed his foot beside Dean's. Then, the next day, when they were walking back in from the balcony Sam had just barely grazed his knuckles against the back of Dean's hand, wondering what would happen and he wasn't disappointed. It had only escalated from there, however, to the point where Sam had 'accidentally' tripped—which wasn't that hard to pull off as he was known to trip while crossing the street—and fell on top of Dean. And, for Sam to see the other's expression was priceless! Dean had frozen, possibly from shock of the fall or from being underneath Sam, and the other had witnessed Dean's bright red face, his rapid blinking and then his flustered facial expression once Sam had gotten off. However, a few days later when Sam had 'tripped' again, Dean merely caught him in his strong arms and held him steady, awfully close to the other's body, until Sam gained his balance back. But, that's not what bothered Sam. What bothered the hazel-eyed man was the look in Dean's eyes when he didn't let go, when he just held him, looking at him with such intensity that Sam literally thought his body had melted under its gaze.

And that was one of the strongest pieces of evidence Sam held: that pure wanting, longing look in Dean's eyes, captivating Sam until he was forced to look away as they continued their journey home from the bar.

Once Sam figured out that Dean would respond to any physical touch between them—and the response was always worth it—he needed more than just that; although, those instances were pretty much proof enough even though they could be just out of embarrassment or discomfort. But Sam liked to think differently. Especially with the way Dean reacted to his comments that could be taken as having a sexual connotation…

So far, Sam had gathered only the basic evidences of attraction. All he had to do now was figure out if Dean was aware of the attraction or not; and if the elder brother wasn't, then Sam…well, Sam didn't want to think about that until he had to. It wasn't that he was necessarily afraid that their brotherly connection would be ruined if Dean didn't feel that way about Sam, it was just that with it being one-sided, the younger Winchester would have a difficult time coming home to Dean every day when he was off before Sam knowing that his attraction, his want, his desire for Dean would never be returned. And, up until now, Sam never really had to face this kind of problem with living with Dean, but now that his hopes were high and mighty and were destined to be crushed under the weight of rejection and truth, Sam knew that things would be different, feel different to him, at least.

With troubling thoughts running rampant in Sam's mind, the man sighed, closing his eyes, and forcing himself to sleep, his mind to calm down, his muscles to relax.

Morning eventually came, waking up the brothers with its glorious rays of penetrating light. And for one particular brother, an equally glorious smile was plastered onto his face as he walked into the kitchen to the smell of frying bacon and scrambled eggs. With a side of pie especially for him.

"Wow, Sammy, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to woo me." A light smile, a twinkle in the eye, and a playful tone of the elder brother. Yes, Sam would say it was turning out to be a good morning after all. And with an appointment later, a rather important, demanding appointment, the day was going to be spectacular by the end.

With a roll of his eyes and a stir of the eggs, Sam faced Dean. "In your dreams. You're too short for me."

The elder scoffed playfully. "At least people don't have to stand on stilts just to kiss me, Gigantor."

"Jerk."

"Bitch." And, with that, Dean grabbed two plates out the cabinet and placed them next to Sam. "So, any plans today?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders characteristically. "I have a last minute appointment at noon but other than that, I'm not entirely sure yet at the moment. I might call Lori and see how she is doing…"

"Oh! Which reminds me, I need to call Lisa and Ben. It's his birthday today."

Dean had always been infatuated with Lisa and absolutely adored Ben, something that Sam had always been frightfully afraid of. It's not that he didn't like Lisa because he loved Lisa like a sister, but that didn't mean that he had to like the fact that dean and Lisa had a history together. However, it seemed that, over recent years, the infatuation between the two diminished into somewhat of a friendly affair; at least, so it seemed on both sides.

Sam smiled, thinking about his appointment at noon and scooping some eggs and bacon onto the two plates beside him on the counter. Hopefully, if things went well, his day would soon become much better.

Dean and Sam sat at the small dining table, across from each other as per usual and ate in silence for a moment. That is, it was silent until Dean awkwardly cleared his throat which had the younger Winchester brother looking up with quizzical eyes. "So, uh, Sammy…seeing any body?"

Sam merely blinked, chocking a little on his eggs. "W-what?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean speared a bite of eggs and popped it into his mouth. "Are you seeing anybody?"

The other took a napkin and wiped his mouth before answering, giving him time to actually think of an answer. "Uh, no, not really. But I am interested in someone."

Seeming as if he didn't care one way or the other to Sam, Dean merely kept chewing and when he swallowed he glanced at the taller man sitting in front of him. "Is this someone a man?"

Dean saw the slight nod of the other's head and had to fight back a smile.

"Do I know him?"

"Yes." Sam had become wary of the other's questions but still, he couldn't deny his brother the truth. However, the younger brother would not give the name unless asked directly, nor would he give too much detail about the physical attributes unless Dean persisted. He thought of this as a new experiment, to see if the other caught on.

Swallowing the bite he was chewing on, Dean looked at the glass of Orange Juice in front of him then back at Sam. "Where does he live?"

"Around," came the short reply.

Then there came a silence between the two yet again that morning: Sam not wanting to ask Dean why he had suddenly taken an interest in Sam's love life—though he suspected the reason—and Dean didn't know how to exactly go about his own plans that were unbeknownst to the other.

Sam, however, paid no attention to the other's internal conflict as he didn't look up from his breakfast, scooping eggs into his mouth and chewing methodically.

Finally, as if the silence had lasted several hours, Dean cleared his throat. "So, what does he do?"

"He runs his own business of sorts and he's very good at it. Everyone respects him." Sam gave a small smile.

"Own business in what?"

"Service. Why all the questions, De?"

Dean delivered a hard glare at the other at the awful nickname. "What? Is it a crime to want to know about my baby brother's personal life and who he likes? You know, this guy could be dangerous, whoever he is." Dean waggled his fork at the other as if to drive his point home.

Sam just merely chuckled, leaning back. "Dean, the guy's harmless, though I wouldn't put it past him to take a bullet for me."

"You're that close to him already?"

"It would appear so."

Dean just nodded, stood and took his plate to the kitchen. From the sink, as he washed off his plate and began working the dishes from breakfast, he called back to Sam as he was facing away from the other, his back exposed to Sam. "So, what does he look like?"

"Uh," Sam cleared his throat a little before continuing. "He's shorter than I am, dirty blonde hair—though it gets darker in the summer—and green eyes."

"Sounds like your kind of guy." This time, the elder couldn't help but smile even though Sam couldn't see it.

"He is. He just doesn't know I'm interested." Sam stood, taking his plate to the sink, making sure to brush his shoulder against Dean's but this time, the elder didn't flinch away, he didn't even blush or blink. And, if Sam looked carefully, he could see the beginning of a playful smirk on the other's face and maybe he was imagining things, but he could have sworn that the other moved

"And why is that?"

"Because he's either oblivious to the signs or he doesn't want to admit the truth."

"And what truth would that be?"

"That he's interested in me as well."

Sam did not miss the small pause in Dean's motions, nor did he miss the other blink as if he was hit with something.

"…How old is he exactly?" Dean continued washing the dishes, which was actually just a pan that he had been scrubbing since Sam walked up to him.

Sam internally sighed, wanting Dean to know the truth, wanting Dean to catch on to the truth before Sam had to say it to save himself from the humiliation of rejection and the iniquitous nature of his desire for the other that would be greater if he had said it himself. "He's thirty two."

With a nod, Dean took out the pan that he thoroughly cleaned and rinsed the soap off, placing it in the drying rack to his left. "So, what are his hobbies?"

Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest, wondering which ones to say out loud, wondering which ones Dean would mark as his own hobbies. "Uh, well, he likes to torment his little brother—" Dean interrupted with a chuckle.

"Sorry, go on."

"…and he likes to cook. He's mostly at work, but every Saturday night he hangs out with his little brother and they go the club and party. He likes nature though he wouldn't admit it to anybody who asked. And he loves metal and that sort of music." Hopefully, with all that information, Dean would get it if he hadn't already. And Sam hoped just as fervently as a mad man hoped for serenity.

"What's his name?" Dean asked nonchalantly, as if he didn't already know, as if it was just a regular question.

But to Sam, this was the ultimate test: it was a test against his desire for having Dean know after years of lusting, and hiding, after the other, a test to see how Dean felt once he knew, a test to see if Sam would tell the truth or try to hide from it, afraid of how the other would react.

Sighing, and looking away from his older brother, Sam relented into himself, realizing that there was only way to find out.

"Sammy, what's his name?" Dean asked again, drying off his hands and looking at Sam intently, as though his gaze was enough to get the other to talk.

Reluctantly, Sam looked at his brother, fearing the worst. "Dean…his name is Dean…"


	7. Unexpected Pleasantries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly about Dean exploring things about him and Sam and the way they have interacted over the past. The next chapter will also have some realizations (as the title has to make sense somehow) about Dean's feeling towards Sam because, really, Sam has liked Dean forever so there isn't really any exploring there. Anyway, the real smut and amazing sex comes in the next chapter, I promise!

Dean had actually been rather surprised by that answer. Though, he must admit, he was internally ecstatic that Sam's answer had been him. Seven weeks ago he would have gagged at the idea of that being Sam's answer, but now…everything had changed. And they had done so with the help of Ash.

For the last few weeks—Dean lost count of how many had passed since he asked for Ash's help—Ash had come to his bar after it wasn't busy and the obscure man had actually given advice and helped Dean realize what he had felt, kept hidden, all along. And that was the most disconcerting thing Dean had ever gone through. After all, it isn't every day that one finds out they are in love with their brother, age be damned.

It had taken some real self-exploring for Dean to come to the conclusion that he had a thing for Sammy.

And he had come to that conclusion over a glass of scotch while pull a triple shift at the diner.

He had sat there, contemplating all that Ash had told him, all that Ash had said about Sammy, about Dean. About them together. And suddenly, somehow, without him knowing it, everything clicked. The way Sammy had always climbed into his bed on random nights—though that may have been due to the storms—and stayed with him even after the storm was over when he was younger, how the other had always waited for Dean to take a shower first just because Dean would walk out in nothing but a towel, why Sammy had always looked at Dean longer than normal and things of the like.

Even Dean's own feelings towards Sammy since the day Sam was old enough to go to school had clicked: why Dean had felt overprotective of the young boy, especially when other people got near him. It wasn't that Sammy couldn't protect himself, because the boy could indeed, it was just the fact that Dean had felt that Sammy was his because he knew everything about that kid, that Sam shouldn't have to need another's company because he had always had Dean and the elder should have been enough—something that Dean didn't realize at the time, of course, because the elder had always thought it was the 'big-protective-brother' side coming out. That is, until their father had died when Sam was just eleven years old and Dean was fifteen.

They had gone to live with Bobby Singer, their unofficial Godfather and guardian. But somehow, Bobby had always been as much of a father to them as their real father was. Dean knew that it helped Sam to be with Bobby, so he didn't really push the fact that they weren't as close anymore even though they would always be closer than any other pair of brothers. Sam, being eleven, was effected most because—though he understood the concept of death and that his father was never coming back—he'd had nightmares, become distant, a basic hermit. Dean had given him space, time, but eventually Dean found that he was becoming more like a father-figure to Sam than the brother he used to be to the other because Dean wouldn't let his emotions show around Sammy anymore, and he never let Sammy lay with him again in the same bed when a storm hit, but he'd be willing to sit down and let Sam cry on his shoulder when Dad's birthday came around, or any other holiday for that matter. Sure, Dean was there for Sammy, and would help support him. And when Dean was sixteen, he started working at Ellen's Diner, simply cleaning off the tables, sweeping, mopping, wiping the counters off, cleaning the bathrooms, and re-stocking the cooler and pantry. It was hard work, laborious hours, and what with trying to get good grades in school, nearly impossible to manage. But he did it. For Sam. Because he wanted to make sure that Sam got the best of what Dean could give him. Dean wanted Sam to be happy and to stay with Dean for as long as possible. Because Dean couldn't fathom what it would be like if Sam stopped loving him and stopped talking to him. But as soon as Sam had turned seventeen and started his junior year of high school, Dean was almost drawn towards him all the time, every chance he could get he was stuck to Sam, who had never complained about it.

Because once the younger Winchester had started filling out in high school—despite him being still incredibly tall and skinny—and started talking about college, Dean had always wanted to be near the other. To talk to him, to find out what he was doing and when, who his closest friends were, and to just simply spend time with him. This was unexplainable, but eventually Dean figured out—while sitting with that glass of Scotch—that he had been protective for a different reason altogether. It wasn't to keep Sam safe like he had convinced himself of at the time, but to keep Sam to himself, because subconsciously he was afraid to grow apart from Sam, to allow Sam to belong to someone else in a more amorous way. But, then again, this was when Dean had found out that Sam was planning on going away for college. Granted, he thought that by senior year, his brother would have changed his mind about going out of state, but that wasn't the case. And so, in senior year, Dean had tried everything to get Sam to stay with him; from hanging out and trying to be a brother—a real brother—to getting into arguments about it.

However, nothing had worked it seemed. And while Bobby had agreed to let Sam go on his way and become whatever it is he wanted to become, Dean was absolutely pissed. The elder Winchester didn't even understand why he had wanted Sam to stay, but something had told him in that bar when he had figured everything out that he had wanted Sam to stay because he himself didn't want to let go for fear of Sam never returning to him. It was that possessive, selfish side coming out. Yet, throughout that, Dean had pulled shifts in the diner, barely making minimum wage, to try to make enough to at least send some off with Sam to pay for some of his college. And, because he was a busboy until Sam graduated high school, he made five dollars and twenty five cents an hour, plus ten percent of the waitresses' and waiters' tips. Which was good money considering the fact that he had made over fifteen thousand dollars, working fifty hours a week for fifty two weeks. Sure, it was hard and a killer on his back and muscles, but he pulled through it. For Sam. To make Sam happy. Because no matter what Dean wanted, Sam's needs always came first.

Unfortunately, though, in the silent car ride to the airport, Dean had wanted to turn around so badly. But he refused because he knew it would just piss off Sam and a pissed off Sam made Dean pissed. Tears had threatened to fall from both men's eyes as they drew nearer and while they waited in the car to say goodbye. Dean remembered tightening his grip on the steering wheel, looking at Sam after the other had cleared his throat awkwardly. Dean remembered the pained expression in Sam's eyes, the hurt and overwhelming sadness radiating from him when the other said, "Well, this is it. I better go now, huh?"

Dean had swallowed hard, trying to hold back his own tears, the own hurt he felt at Sam's departure. "Uh, yea. Your plane is going to be leaving in thirty minutes and you still gotta register your luggage, kid." And, without another word, Sam stepped out the car and, just as he was leaning down to grab a bag from the floorboard, Dean stopped him, grabbing onto his jacket sleeve. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah, De?"

A small smile alighted Dean's features. "When you get there, you gotta tell me how the pies are."

Sam rolled his eyes, his mood lightened for only a moment before he shut the door to the Impala and walked off with his bags in tow. And that day, that moment, had been one of the worst experiences of Dean's life for it felt as if his heart, however cold and distant it might be, had been ripped through his chest with one's bare hands…even though he probably hadn't known it at the time.

Dean's lips had been on Sam's in a flash only a few seconds after Dean heard his name escape the soft pink, inviting mouth. Pushing Sam more so against the counter to press his own body flush against the taller man's, Dean couldn't figure out why he had held back earlier in the morning. This feeling, the feel of his lips against Sam's, the man he came to find out he was attracted to in the most basic way one can be, the feel of his hard chest pressing against his younger brother's was suddenly all that he could think about.

And both men had never been more unexpectedly pleased by anything in his life…


	8. Middle of the Day and Into the Night

Sam hadn't resisted, having wanted it for so long. And, obviously, if Dean kissed him first the other wanted it, too, but Sam was sure Dean had only realized it within the last seven or eight weeks. He wasn't certain, though, as his mind wasn't necessarily working properly due to his brother's insistent, smooth, yet slightly chapped, lips against his own. And when he was pushed against the counter in that particular way that claimed dominance, he knew that Dean would have his way if this were to go how far Sam had dreamed of it going for years.

Kissing Dean, finally being able to taste the other, made Sam realize exactly why the girls couldn't resist him. Not only did he smell of oil, leather, and gun powder, but he tasted like a strange, perfectly concentrated, spice mixed with something that was purely Dean. And Sam already knew that he had become addicted. With one kiss, with one swipe of Dean's tongue along his bottom lip, Sam knew he could never go back.

The feel of Dean's hands on his skin was like a wildfire; all searing torture and a fiery blaze following every trail and touch of the man's palms and fingers. It felt so right to be pressed against Dean in this way, for his lips to be nipped and sucked by the other that only made Sam wish for more, desperately wanting more from him in every way. Fisting his hands in his brother's hair, he brought the man closer, plunging his tongue into the already parted mouth, running the muscle over the rigged flesh on the roof of Dean's cavern, earning a small shudder and rough hands pushing up Sam's shirt, blunt fingernails scratching their way down the younger's back in retaliation as Dean's own tongue fought for the dominance both men knew he would gain sooner or later.

Much too quickly, Sam's breath came out in light pants and when he pulled away, hazel orbs meeting bright, lust filled green, his knees almost gave out at the sight; it was that look in Dean's eyes, that predatory, devious, wanting look that made everything that Sam had dreamed about come into reality in an instant for he knew that neither one of them would be sated until they had gone as far as they could go.

Dean's lips were on his throat in a second, nipping and suckling at the sensitive skin and Sam had to wonder if Dean was truly comfortable with this or if he was just going through the motions and letting the moment take over. If that were case, Dean was sure to regret it later. But, if Dean had genuinely wanted this like Sam assumed he did—especially since Dean initiated this interaction between them—then perhaps they could become more than just brothers, more than just this one time, more than just—Sam couldn't think anymore. Not when Dean had somehow gotten off Sam's shirt without the other noticing and was now currently taking off his own. He couldn't think when his mouth was being ravished with Dean's in a heated rush of motion, want, and apparent need. Not when those sinfully talented hands fisted themselves in Sam's locks of hair and pulled him closer to Dean's body, trapping him in every corner imaginable. And he definitely couldn't think straight when Dean's hardened, straining length rubbed against his own in an act so sinfully wrong but beguilingly right at the same time.

Dean heard the slight intake of breath that turned into a small moan escape his brother—his own small gasp mixing in the air, as well—and couldn't help but come to the realization that he had wanted this for far longer than he thought. He possibly might have wanted this all his life but that was too much to think about at the moment as his groin connected with Sam's once more, rolling deliciously against one another's as his lips, teeth, and tongue marked Sam's neck. When he pulled away, looking at what he created—the dark purple mark already swelling—a certain possessiveness overtook his sense; a small smirk played on his lips at the thought that Sam must certainly now belong to him.

Wanting more, wanting so much more, he breathed against Sam's ear, licking the curvature of the small body part—eliciting a faint shudder within the other. The natural huskiness of his voice deepened to a sensual, purely Porn-Star tembre that made Sam lose all sense of himself when the other spoke. "Bedroom, Sammy…Now." His fingers grazed over a nipple of the taller man, making it rise to its full potential rather quickly, thus creating a hitch in Sam's breath again. Dean found that he loved that sound and so repeated the action, Sam's hips bucking in response.

Shaking his head slightly, his breath coming out in pants and his eyes glazed over in lust and carnal need, he replied, "N-no…too far…here. Please, Dean…"

Sam saying Dean's name like that went straight to his already hardened cock, making a spot of pre-cum appear on the clothed head. "God, Sammy…" Dean said wantonly as he ground against the other's hips again.

"Dean…" Sam moaned as he arched his back off the counter, making their chests come into sweet, delicious contact. And just as he said that, Dean was already at his pants, his fingers sliding under the fabric of Sam's sweatpants to teasingly graze the sensitive skin of the other's hip and upper thigh. With goose-bumps forming on Sam's skin from Dean's attention, the younger was quite sure that Dean would tease him about it later. But that wasn't his main concern right now. Right now, with Dean yanking down his sweatpants, he was concerned with not tripping as he lifted his feet one at a time to get out of the fabric.

Dean's hot breath against Sam's quivering thigh only added to both men's excitement and when the elder brother pressed a hit, wet kiss to the inside of Sam's thigh a jolt of pleasure ran through Sam's length as well as effectively clouding his mind of any all thought. But it didn't stop there as Dean apparently had more than just that simple kiss on his mind.

Unexpectedly—or was it?—Dean ran his tongue along the inside of Sam's thigh, coming to continue his ministrations on the underside of Sam's more private area, his nose nudging Sam's ball sac which had Sam's thighs quivering in anticipation. With a small flick to Sam's perineum, Dean ran his tongue from the base of Sam's cock to the very tip, collecting the small drops of pre-cum that had already gathered there. On a side note, Dean was rather surprised to find no hair on this particular part of Sam's body; granted Dean had his curls nicely trimmed with a nice little, seductive happy trail to go along with it, but it was still a surprise—a very nice one in the least—that Sam was hairless in this sense.

However, after Dean thought about it, Sam was always one to actually care about his hygiene and appearance. So, it wasn't altogether unexpected.

Unbeknownst of Dean's internal thoughts, Sam wanted to just thrust into Dean's teasing mouth. What with the lips slowly running along the length of Sam's hardened cock, it was hard to focus on anything else but the rivulets of pleasure coursing through him. "D-Dean…", Sam pleaded, his voice coming out in heavy pants that quickly turned to a moan when his older brother flicked his tongue over the leaking slit once more.

Glancing up, seeing Sam's neck bent that way, with his lips parted slightly, Dean's cock managed to grow that much harder within a second. "Yes, baby boy?" He wrapped his hand around the base of Sam's cock while his mouth closed over the very tip—he had seen enough pornos to know how to give a good blowjob—and sucked lightly, which only elicited a small hiss from Sammy and a hand tightening in Dean's hair.

"God, Dean…s'good…more…", the younger pleaded faintly, his voice coming out in breathy moans. And the next thing he knew was Dean's mouth lowering even more until the head of Sam's cock was mere centimeters from touching the back of Dean's throat, and Sam wasn't small by any means, girth or length in extension. However, Dean was wearing a smug look on the inside as he mentally compared them and found that he was slightly larger—girth wise—than his baby brother.

Dean, his eyes watering slightly from Sam's cock and from it going so far back in his mouth, bobbed his head up and down slowly, testing to see how his brother would react and when he found the sight before him—Sam biting his lower lip and mouthing silently 'more' and 'please' and 'Dean'—he changed pace and allowed his tongue to go into the process as well, dipping in the slit and swirling around the head, watching Sam all the while to make sure he didn't do something that would make the other uncomfortable. And from the way Sam's legs quivered at Dean's ministrations, the elder brother would have to say that he was doing a mighty fine job in pleasing his brother.

And, much to the chagrin of Sam, that heat was gone from his cock in an instant, the air chilling the saliva already on the shaft making the younger brother shiver, only for him to be yanked forward by the underside of his knees, causing him to land on his ass on the hard tile of the kitchen floor. Before he could protest, though, his lips were captured hungrily by his brother's, a mixture of lust and passion, the swipe of wet tongue against wet tongue, the harsh throbbing pulse in their lips when they pulled away to breathe. Spreading his legs to accommodate Dean's form, he found that his brother was just as hard as he was if the giant bulge in the worn jeans was anything to go by as well as the amazing friction of their lengths colliding, forcing breathy, guttural moans to slip free from open lips.

But Sam needed those damned things off. And he needed them off now. He needed to feel Dean's erection against his own.

As soon as he found it in him to remove his hands from Dean's smooth, tantalizing back, he immediately started undoing the man's jeans, unsnapping it and pulling down the zipper. Abruptly, the younger brother flipped their positions, pinning Dean's body beneath his as he kissed his way down the other's neck, chest and abdomen, dipping his tongue into the man's navel as he yanked down Dean's pants as far as he could with their position.

Dean could say, without a doubt, that Sam's lips against his skin was worth society frowning down upon them. The man knew how to work the open-mouthed kisses, grazing his tongue along the more sensitive areas making Dean jump in just the right way that, if Dean had not been dominant by nature, would have him moaning like a porn-star. And, as it were, he was close to begging Sam to put his mouth where it belonged and not on the shaved skin beside it. He gripped Sammy's shoulders, silently begging—as that was always a little better than verbally—that he not stop but continue elsewhere. And thankfully Sam was a smart man because he got the picture right away and lets his lips cover Dean's head, sucking lightly, running the flat of his tongue over the tip, collecting the pre-cum found there. Like Dean had seen enough pornos to give good head, Sam had been with enough guys to know.

When Sam lowered his mouth slowly, so teasingly slow, it was hard for Dean to not thrust into that amazing mouth. And, with the things Sam was able to do with his tongue in the process almost had Dean wondering if the other had more than one. His brother's name slipped from his lips as he gently took Dean all the way, his nose pressing against the man's skin as the head of his cock touched the back of his throat, threatening his gag reflex. But he took it. Because of the sound Dean made when he performed the action. It was such a sound that Sam could die within in the next few seconds as a happy man—hard as hell, but happy. When he figured Dean had had enough of him simply going slowly, he began bobbing his head up and down, the use of tongue, teeth, and lips being interchangeable at various moments, making Dean writhe just like he had done to Sammy. But, Dean being…well, Dean, he really had had enough and hurriedly switched their positions, pinning Sam's hands above his head and roughly capturing the other's lips with his own which elicited a wanting moan from Sam, who had always been a slight masochist.

With that being understood, it came as no surprise when Dean pulled back and began sucking on the man's pulse point that he had huskily, lustfully, whispered into Dean's ear, "Take me…now…"


	9. Fucking Masochists

"Take me…Now…"

Dean pulled back, a questioning look in his eyes as if to say, "This may be the first time I've had sex with another man but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be prepped or something, right?"

But Sam couldn't wait any longer than necessary. Dean's body heat was too much, far, far too much already and all he wanted was to feel that engorged, leaking cock, inside of him. "Dean, please".

Letting out a small whimper—that he would deny for the rest of his life—Dean gave in to Sam's request all because the other had the perfect bedroom voice. Sweet, slightly innocent but devious at the same time, with enough lust, need, and simple want that allowed the other to eventually get what he wanted. And get it he did. Because Dean couldn't deny his little brother anything, not even when they were younger, and especially not now. Not when Sam had said it using that voice, not when Sam was currently bucking his hips up slightly, seeking what Dean had to offer him.

So when Dean smeared the copious amounts of pre-cum over his cock, and rubbed it along Sam's entrance, the younger had pleaded, again and again and again for Dean to just get on with it. Wanting, so desperately wanting for the other to enter him. He rocked his hips down a bit, his legs wrapping themselves around Dean's as his cock was right there. Right fucking there. But unattainable as Dean had decided he was going to tease Sam, slowly pressing against the entrance then pulling back. Adding more pressure, but releasing it not even a few seconds later. And Sam was useless, not able to grip onto Dean the way he wanted because the other had pinned his hands down some time ago—wait, where was Sam when that had happened?—and would pull back enough to where, no matter how hard Sam tried, he just couldn't impale himself on Dean's member like he wanted. "Dean…", he whined. And yes, Sam Winchester whined. It was Dean's fault entirely.

It looked as if Dean had had some sort of internal battle raging on within because the look in his eyes said it all. He didn't want to hurt Sam, but he wanted to give the other what he wanted. And Dean looked as though he wanted it just as badly.

Running his hand through Dean's hair, he caught the other's gaze. "Dean, I'm not a porcelain doll—you won't break me…" With that, he rocked his hips again, and was almost surprised that his brother didn't pull away like he had done previously when the head of Dean's cock pressed against his sphincter. And when Dean pressed back, the head slipping in with little to no difficulty due to Sam relaxing, it was almost enough to send them both over the metaphorical edge. That tight, all encompassing, heat overwhelming Dean's senses at just that moment when he continued to press onward, his fully hardened cock slowly driving into his little brother's sweet, sweet ass. Something that Dean had only recently come to love to look at. And, fuck, he wished that he had realized this a lot sooner because the all-consuming fire burning within him blazed even hotter when he entered the other, kissed the other, simply touched the younger male that was currently arching against him, small, breathy moans spilling out of his swollen lips as he was penetrated.

When dean was finally hilted, he slowly opened his eyes, locking his darkened orbs with widened ones of baby brother beneath him, a small smile lighting Sam's features even more than usual. Dean waited to move on account that he didn't want to hurt Sam and he was by no means small in any fashion so he figured it'd take a moment for the other to get used to the feel of Dean inside of him. With a slight nod, and a small nip to Dean's bottom lip, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, his legs about the other's waist and gave his consent. He had been waiting far too long for this moment and if pain came with the territory of having Dean fuck him, then so be it. He wanted Dean, all of him, whether it be with a romantic notion or if immense amounts of pain were going to be involved. The pain bit didn't really bother Sam, anyway, as he had always been slightly masochistic…something he hoped Dean would come to love of him as well.

With Sam's apparent approval, Dean finally moved, slowly pulling out of the younger's heat, which constricted almost painfully—perhaps to keep him in and to feel more of him—around him, only teasing him to go back in at that moment. But he had a tactic. Almost. This was his first time ever with another male so he can't necessarily have a tactic. But he did know what he would like if he were ever in Sam's position. When just the head of his cock was inside of the other, he snapped his hips forward, burying himself deep inside the other, eliciting a strong gasp and a heavy moan to fall from Sam's lips, his back arching beautifully before lowering itself against the tiled floor of the kitchen as Dean pulled back again.

A slight burning came with the thrusts that Dean began to implement, but Sam reveled in it. It meant that the pleasure was building. It meant that that slight pain was going to render him unable to walk properly if the thrusts were anything to go by as far as foreshadowing went. It meant that he'd remember this moment and that this very moment was real. That it wasn't just some dream that was so realistically tangible it confused the senses. The younger brother held tightly onto Dean, not wanting to really let go at all, as he wanted to be closer to the man he loved in so many ways. Letting his hands rest on Dean's shoulders as he leaned back to look into those beautifully lust blown green eyes of his, he saw the look of triumph, of possibly pride, joy, and pleasure flash across that handsome face. Somehow, he knew by that look that Dean expected to be top from now on…but Sam was versatile. Or, he could be.

A particularly well aimed thrust had him arching high off the floor, a porn-worthy moan slipping from him, his hands tightening on the other's shoulders incredibly, his thoughts scattering—returning to a single mantra of 'more, harder, Dean…"—only hinting at the powerful strength of the muscles that hid underneath his skin.

And, shit, to see that younger man do such a thing, to see his skin flush, to see his mouth turn into that gorgeous 'ah', to hear what the other sounded like when being pleasured and to know that Dean was causing said pleasure sent shivers up the elder's spine, a level of intensity he hadn't felt in a long time coursing through his system, exciting every nerve, sparking every extinguished flame.

As Dean gave in to Sam's pleas, their movement became erratic, the younger writhing against Dean and the tiled floor of the kitchen, his legs wrapping themselves around Dean's waist, moving to his legs, trying to get as much of Dean as he could while trying to breathe—it felt as if his lungs had been punctured, the air he needed never getting to their destination as each thrust would just make what little oxygen he held whoosh out of him. Beads of sweat had gathered on the two men, making their movements all the more slick and sticky. The loudness of skin slapping against skin only resounded about the apartment, making its sweet way back to their ears and enticing Dean to thrust even more forcefully into the other as Sam moaned out his name and phrases that would make any lesser man come in an instant.

Hands were scratching, clawing, grabbing painfully, tugging at hair, leaving bruises that were already forming on each body. Breathes came out in heavy pants, intertwining in the small amount of space between the two. Pornographic moans slipped from the younger as Dean continued to pleasure him, continued to run his hands and tongue over Sam's body, nip and suckle at the more sensitive parts of the other's neck and ear.

It wasn't until Dean had wrapped his hand around Sammy's cock that the other finally came, the jolts of unimaginable pleasure finally washing over him, taking control, and releasing that tightly wound coil in the pit of his gut that had been building all the while. White hot ribbons splattered onto Sam's abdomen, consequently coating a little of Dean's as well as getting onto the other's fingers.

Shuddering at the muscles that clamped down around his thick cock, Dean, too, soon made it over the edge, joining his brother in the aftermaths of such an event as his semen coated the walls of Sam's anus, Dean's cock twitching inside the other as Sam milked his cock ever so deliciously. Leaning into the other a little, Dean gently kissed Sam's lips, smiling that sexy grin of his, his eyes still shining with lust and the completion that he endured only a few moments ago. A few small moans escaped Sam at the sensation of still being filled, of feeling that hot wetness coat the inside of himself and knowing that whenever Dean pulled out that most of it would come spilling out onto the tile.

Smiling out of pure bliss, Sam looked up at older brother as he tried to control his breathing. When he was able to at least form a sentence, whether it be connected or not, he chuckled a little. "N-next time…I'm on…top, 'kay?"


	10. True To His Word

True to his word, Sam topped the next time. And the time after that. And every other time since then. It was surprising, actually, to the both of them whenever Dean had come to the conclusion that he rather enjoyed being at the other's mercy entirely, being submissive to his younger brother, that he wasn't afraid to beg for it if Sam teased him too long. In fact, Dean loved every minute of it. He reveled in the power that Sam held over him while going through the motions of foreplay and coitus. He loved feeling subjugated to Sam's will, awaiting that moment when the other, more muscular man took him, let him travel to that peak and then fall without so much as a warning. More than ever, though, he loved the feeling, the sensation, of being filled, of being taken.

Truth of it was that it was simply because Dean trusted his Sammy. Yes, his Sammy. They had established that long ago. Even when they were children, Dean wouldn't let any of the other small kids so much as look at Sam without a thorough interview of sorts to make sure they wouldn't bully the younger or pretend to be his friend only to make fun of him later behind his back. Dean wouldn't let Sammy out of his sight except on the few rare occasions. Dean would make sure that Sammy always had something to eat even if it meant he would starve. So,in all retrospect, Sammy was his from the very beginning. His to look out for, to protect, to take care of. His to make sure he was educated as much as he could be, his to be a role model for.

His to love. And to love always.

It only made sense that their brotherly bond had progressed into lovers. Anyone else would agree. And, well, they did.

Truly, though, it was a funny story on how they knew everyone had agreed on that front. A story that Dean tries ever so hard to forget. But he knows that he cannot; simply because of the immense happiness and love that poured from Sam's body and spewed everywhere in the aftermath of the event.

It was Dean's birthday on that day. January 24th. And he had already guessed what was going to happen. He would be working all day—he didn't particularly care about his birthday (especially since he was turning 33 that year)—and Sam would surprise him with a cake, dinner, a movie, and birthday sex later. Oh, and pie. And presents. But, mostly, Dean looked forward to the birthday pie. Oh, yeah. But that was the only thing was he looking forward to. And, possibly the sex as well. Sex. And Pie. Hmm, maybe together? Spice up their foreplay a bit? He'd convince Sam. If the little sexual deviant hadn't already thought about it.

Honestly, it was as if Sam was born Kinky! Or maybe it was because most of the women—all of the women—that Dean had been with would have freaked out, not gone through it, not been into it in the first place, or were too fragile to handle the things Sam and Dean did to each other. Mostly Sam doing it to Dean as Sam made a point in making Dean his bitch. Which was okay with Dean. Because, perhaps not so surprisingly, he loved bottoming to Sam. The feel of the other's thick, leaking cock—which was a lot bigger than your average cock, and thicker, too—inside of him, pounding into his body relentlessly, abusing his prostate gland over and over again, stimulating his every nerve ending, driving him to…Dean shook his head. It wouldn't be proper if he got a boner while talking to a customer about college football.

And on that night, well, he tried to lock up and get home as fast as possible. It was only seven o'clock in the evening, but Dean knew he wouldn't be able to go home until early in the morning. Perhaps, if he were lucky, around two instead of four tonight.

Though, knowing Dean and his lack of good luck, he wouldn't go home at all until the next morning at this rate. Which, honestly, wouldn't surprise anyone. Except Sam was probably upset that Dean even considered working on his birthday in the first place.

Wait. Scratch that.

Sam was definitely upset. And not upset.

Pissed. Most definitely pissed at Dean.

But, it wasn't his fault; (okay, maybe it was) Dean needed an income. And, in order to gain an income, one needs to work. So, really Sam shouldn't be that upset over Dean working on his own birthday. Hell, it wasn't like he was working on Sam's birthday. Now, that would be a dick move.

Dean shook his head, dispelling thoughts of Sam. He was still working and this guy was still talking to him about college football as if he hadn't realized Dean was preoccupied with Sammy; then again, the guy looked like he was the type to be oblivious to people ignoring him…or, y'know, to everything.

With the presence of another customer at the bar, Dean was free to break away from the College Football Conversation and to place in the order for the new customer, who, Dean had to admit was rather good looking. With seemingly soft, black hair, that framed his pale face nicely, a lean frame that was hidden under an expensive leather jacker, and black jeans that seemed worn a little bit, he could be an interesting character. But not Dean's type.

Dean went for the absurdly tall and muscular, brown hair that was silky to the touch, high cheekbones, cute little dimples and a rockin' cock—damn. He'd have to go home sooner than he thought if he was going to continue like that.

Three hours later, Dean had had enough of this bar—even though he loved it just as much as his baby. And, he wasn't referring to Sam when he said 'baby'. He meant his car, of all things—and made his way home, another co-worker covering the rest of his shift. Upon arriving at their shared apartment, Dean couldn't help but wear an amused grin as he pulled into the parking lot.

Tonight better come with the best birthday sex of his life.

Unlocking the door, he was rather taken aback by the lack of light—maybe Sam was already asleep…the dick. "Sammy?" He called loud enough to be heard throughout the apartment.

"In the bedroom, De!" Came the distant reply.

Toeing off his shoes by the front door, he made his way blindly—though he didn't need to see; he knew this apartment inside and out—to the bedroom, starting to shed his coat, jacket, and shirt on the way. "Man, I need a keg of beer tonight….one bottle ain't gunna do it."

A small chuckle was heard and some rustling as Dean got closer.

"Oh, well, good thing I bought a 24 pack…"

Dean rolled his eyes. Leave it up to Sammy to buy an ass load of beer.

"You're gunna drink with me, right, Sammy?"

"Yeah, of course."

Dean opened the door and flicked on the light. "Before we fu—" He had to stop midsentence at the sight of an ass load of people in his bedroom! Blinking a few times—possibly to make sure he was seeing things correctly—he smiled, laughing a little.

A chorus of "Happy Birthday, Dean" echoed loudly in the room.


	11. Exhibitionism is a Not So Hidden Kink

Needless to say, Dean was thoroughly embarrassed at what has just transpired between him and his lover, his brother, in front of the entire company. And, as much as he didn't want it to show, it did, he knew it. There was no denying it this time.

Sam, a purely happy smile on his physiognomy, went to Dean's side, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling the older male into him only a little, sending him a look that only stated he shouldn't worry about anything and that nothing 'bad' would happen due to their public display of affection.

But Dean wasn't convinced. Sure, people here were generally nice and easy-going, but to find out that two people who are related by blood are also lovers was enough cause to freak out. Not to mention the whole legality factor. As far as Dean knew, incest was highly illegal in South Dakota.

However, as he glanced around at the company before him, he couldn't see anyone who was obviously disgusted. There seemed to be only looks of adoration and knowing smirks—alright, so they were alright with this advancement in the brother's relationship. That's good to know, he supposed, as he glanced back up at his little brother, a small smile forming on his reddened lips. "I'm going to kill you, Sammy." He mouthed subtly to which Sam only chuckled while rolling his eyes.

After a few more seconds had passed, the guests had gone back to their own conversations, a few coming up to Dean in small groups to hug him and smile politely while telling jokes of past birthdays and events, Sam never letting go of his waist until needed, but he'd always return and stand absurdly close to Dean, not that the older brother complained or anything, he just didn't understand why.

It wasn't until maybe an hour later when the drinks and music started, the lights turned off, the stereo blasting throughout the place that Dean finally relaxed and let things go as they wanted to go. With him and Sam just having finished five shots of coconut rum, it was safe to say that he felt good, the alcohol further calming him and making him warmer than necessary. Pulling off his overshirt, Dean felt more comfortable in his black wife-beater.

With the alcohol in his system and the thumpa-thumpa of the music, he felt compelled to pull Sammy onto the dance-floor—meaning their living room void of all furniture; he'd have to ask Sammy where he put it all—jerking his hips in time to the beat with Sam smiling like a dork following behind him.

As people parted to let them through to the center of the room, Dean turned around and placed his hands on the other's hips, forcing himself closer to the other man, their legs on either side of the other's as they moved together to the rhythm that resounded around them, the heat of the other dancers and their exertion already taking a slight hold as their skin moistened a bit. Dean wasn't drunk and neither was Sam at this point, but fuck if they didn't feel like it slightly with the surreal nature of the night and how it was playing out, with how they were dancing with their friends watching in a society where incest was frowned upon.

But, again, it seemed like no one cared and if they did, they had enough respect for Dean and Sam not to say anything about it.

Wrapping their arms around each other, they brought their bodies closer together as their dance continued, as the need to touch, to feel, to kiss, rushed into them. For a moment, their lips were locked so tightly and moved together so roughly that Dean was sure he'd bruise for days. And that was perfectly alright with him because of it meant that he'd be this close to Sam, this intimate, this carnal, then he didn't mind at all.

When the music changed ten minutes later to a much slower rock song—not to suggest a cliché moment of slow-dancing, of course—Dean and Sam actually stopped gyrating against of each other for a moment, their hot, light pants ghosting across their faces, their exhales mingling, beads of sweat catching at the collar of their shirts, darkening the fabric. Equal smiles of magnitude graced their lips and when they finally parted—just to get some fresh, cool air to their skin—they were met with stares of jealous lust from the majority of their onlookers, either drooling over Sam or wanting to secretly paw at Dean. Either way, the temperature rose about ten more degrees in the place, a great cause for Sam and Dean to sneak away to the balcony.

Once there, breathing that cool scent of the chilly air, Sam, out of habit, wrapped his arms around Dean's midsection, bringing the other into a hug from behind as he rested his chin on Dean's shoulder, his voice just a whisper in Dean's ear. "Enjoying the party?" He asked,, slipping his hand slowly down Dean's stomach.

"Hmm, oh yeah, Sammy…" Dean chuckled in return, his hands coming to rest against Sam's thighs behind him. "You?"

Dean only felt Sam nod as the younger's dexterous fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt and made their way down Dean's pants, tickling the flesh found there.

The older brother shivered at the touch, excitement and arousal already taking ahold of his senses, his cock hardening even before Sam touched him fully.

"God, Sammy…" He muttered into the crook of the other's neck once he was finally able to turn his head—his mind already foggy from the alcohol and now becoming recognizably muddied…and Sam knew exactly where to touch, and how to touch, to make Dean this way: this muttering, whimpering, groaning mess that only wanted more and more and that Sam was always willing to give. "…T-there's people here, man…."

"So?" The younger brother drawled out. "They're too busy with whatever it is they are doing to pay attention to us, Dean…" A small nip to the other's earlobe, a cheeky smile.

"Yeah, but what if someone sees us from the bedroom, or comes out here looking for u-us!" He didn't mean to raise his voice at the end but Sam chose that moment to wrap those devilish fingers around his already leaking prick and squeeze, making him jump and shiver in surprise.

"Shh, Dean," Sam cooed. "If you're quiet they won't have reason to come out here, now will they?" Sam purred in the other's ear, nipping the flesh every so often between words, knowing how it made Dean's skin crawl in pleasure—knowing that for the other to keep quiet was nearly impossible and not something even a mime could handle with Sam performing.

Dean rocked his hips into Sam's hand to try and get the other to move it along his aching cock, but to no avail. "Fuck, Sam, get on with it," He begged the other as he rocked his hips into the other yet again, getting his message across to the other.

Yet, unfortunately, Sam didn't comply to Dean's wants immediately like Dean thought he would because usually, when Dean started begging with his body and words everything would suddenly become so much more heated than it already was. Rather, his younger brother only chuckled—the jerking of his abdomen and chest the only thing that gave it away—as he slipped his free hand up Dean's right side, his fingers trailing hotly against the other's clothed skin, over Dean's tensed neck, and into the other's short—but still very much graspable—hair, yanking the other's head to the side and back a little farther like he had done many times in the past.

When he spoke, his breath was hot against Dean's skin, his voice purring out into a low growl. "Ordering me around, Big Brother?" He smirked, letting his lips graze against Dean's pulse, feeling the small shudder that Dean's body gave in reaction to him.

Dean swallowed, the adrenaline, the desire, the yearn to have his brother fuck him and the knowledge that Sam could be exceedingly rough and forceful if he wanted to be—not that Dean had a problem with it. "Hnng….Sammy, I swear, if you don't do something right now, I will fucking kill you."

"Such a strong threat, Dean…." He quipped sarcastically as he licked a small line from the base of Dean's throat to his jaw, nipping the edge of it before he shoved Dean against the railing—his fingers still tangled into Dean's hair and the other hand easily slipping out of the other's pants—the cold metal digging into the man's hips as Sam forced Dean's head forward and pressed himself against Dean's back, his hardened cock felt against Dean's ass even through two layers of jeans.

A low moan sounded from Dean's chest as he was manhandled. God, he'd only do this for Sammy. No one else could he trust enough. Arching his back a little bit, he rubbed his ass against the jean-clad cock of his brother, shivering at the feel of the large outline he felt against him, the heat, the friction, the hold Sam had on him, keeping him there as he reciprocated the movement if only to tease Dean—because Dean knew, without a doubt, that Sam had something planned and that his little brother wasn't going to let him get off so easily, not after all that effort to stop from giving into what he wanted.

Bending his head down enough to touch a kiss to Dean's neck, Sam loosened the grip he had on the other's head just a bit while sliding his other hand down into the back of Dean's pants, his long fingers already commanding Dean to spread his legs and bend over just a bit over the railing when they parted the man's cheeks, running over the tight, puckered orifice that he loved to abuse on a daily basis—and that loved to be abused.

Dean's breath hitched at the initial action but he had quickly submitted. Crooking his head in a way that he was able to whisper into Sam's ear, he licked his lips before speaking. "We really gunna do this here, Sa—"

He was caught off by the balcony door sliding open and a group of people calling their names, begging for the 'birthday boy' to come back to party and that Sam was a jerk for keeping Dean all to himself. But, when Sam faced them, looking innocent and not as if he was just about to fuck Dean's brains out—Dean, on the other hand, couldn't turn around just yet, he only smiled, laughed, and promised that they would return in a moment which seemed to placate the demanding group as they left seconds after the claim.

Smirking, Sam turned back to Dean, placing a kiss on the other's shoulder. "Guess we aren't doing it here after all, big brother." He teased, slapping Dean's ass playfully as he returned to the party inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So that's it for this fic! I might write another chapter that just details their average day or whatever because, let's be honest, even if they were madly in love with each other romantically, they'd still fight like dogs or some days....anyway, I hope you've enjoyed it!_


End file.
